


here, is home

by ivorykeys09



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: 7x22, And a dose of angst, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Married Life, Pregnancy, Pregnant Felicity Smoak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 10:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18798835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorykeys09/pseuds/ivorykeys09
Summary: In another life, they take baby classes and register for cribs and the Diggles throw them a shower.In this life, it's different...(a take on the finale)





	here, is home

**Author's Note:**

> Who knows what's going to happen in Monday's episode... but I wanted to get this out before then. 
> 
> Enjoy!

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In a different life, they throw away her birth control and leave it up to fate to decide when another Queen will join their family.

When she’s four days late, Felicity takes a test while her husband stands in the bathroom doorway, and they both watch the two lines appear instantaneously. They drive down to Central City and tell William after the second appointment, by handing him the grainy ultrasound photo, then re-pack his bags to move him back home. They FaceTime Thea (who cries), and her mom (who screams) and tell the rest of the team once they reach twelve weeks.

They buy every kind of pregnancy book. They know exactly what is happening to the baby every day—like how much it weighs and what feature it's developing this week. They take hospital tours and birthing classes. She registers for baby swings, and bottle warmers, and two different kinds of swaddles.

They buy a house in a leafy suburb and turn the smallest bedroom into a nursery. Oliver paints the walls a light cream and Felicity hires someone to install fluffy cloud wallpaper on the ceiling. They debate over a white or natural wood crib and sit in ten different rockers at three different stores. They both spend their nights resting their hands to her stomach, waiting to feel any kind of movement, kick, or jab.

She delights in shopping for maternity clothes—it’s an excuse to buy new dresses, after all—and wanders the mall in search of any baby store she can find. She happily answers questions from strangers, like how far along she is and if it’s her first or second, and doesn’t care when morning sickness extends well past the first trimester.

In a different life they take a babymoon to Hawaii and sip icy drinks on the beach and talk about names by the pool. They find out they’re having a girl at the halfway point and buy a tiny polka-dot bathing suit for her to wear the next summer.

The Diggles host a baby shower at their house, inviting everyone from Curtis to Barry and Iris, and her mom cries everytime she looks at her daughter. Every day Oliver rubs her feet and back and William fetches her mint chip whenever she asks for it.

She goes into labor one week past her due date. Oliver grabs their perfectly-packed hospital bag and drives them to Star City General, holding her hand the entire way. She gets an epidural as soon as she’s able to, plays cards with William while things progress slowly, and then pushes for three long, exhausting hours. They fall in love the second they see their daughter, their Mia, and live all of their years together as a family of four.

.

.

It’s different in this life.

In real life.

In this life, she finds out that she’s pregnant—alone—only seconds after confirming poison is no longer in her bloodstream.

They don’t tell William or her mom or Thea or _anyone_ , besides Diggle. They settle on baby names early—and though she’s relieved to check at least one thing off their overwhelmingly long To-Do-Before-Baby list, she doesn’t like to think about the _why._ Like if something were to happen, at least they decided on the names together.

She craves cold fruit and yellow gummy bears, and can’t stomach any kind of meat. They miss William so much—desperately so—that they spend most of their days in the lair, because their apartment feels so empty.

In this life, they are so exhausted, they don’t really have time to read baby books. She tries to keep up with the BabyCenter app she downloaded, but with Diaz and then Emiko and everything with Archer, it’s just...a lot. When Diggle asks how far along she is and she answers, “Thirteen weeks” when Oliver says “Fourteen,” she cries so hard she starts to hyperventilate.

During the first few weeks of her second trimester, she randomly gets nauseous at night and it nearly undoes her. Once the clock hits seven it feels like she’s on a boat she can’t get off of. She constantly feels seasick but doesn’t ever throw up—which somehow makes it worse—and Oliver desperately tries to find her a reprieve. When they finally figure out it’s a hot lavender _bath_ of all things that helps her, they both laugh until they cry at the irony. Her nightly soak ends up being her favorite time of day, though, and savors the calm it brings. She lights candles and darkens the room, and lets the hot water settle her stomach and mind. Every night, in the quiet haven of their bathroom, Oliver sits on the floor beside the tub and they let themselves just...talk. They talk about back-up plans and escape routes. They debate middle names and godparents. He finally reads the baby updates from her app and always ends up skipping _ahead_ to see what’s coming, because it’s all just so new and amazing and wild. It’s impossible to completely forget about looming threats and evil half-sisters, but for a few weeks, _this_ normal thing is enough.

When she’s toweling off one night, they both notice her unmistakably rounded stomach. She hasn’t really been showing, which has made it all the more helpful to hide from everyone, but that has officially ended.

“Woah,” Felicity whispers, turning to the side to admire her new profile. A belly has appeared overnight and at the sight of it, things get a thousand times more real. They both smile as they smooth their hands down her skin to feel the change, but when they lock eyes in the mirror, they share a quiet look of fear. This little baby is coming whether they are ready for it or not.

And they are...not.

Though they try everything to avoid it, they eventually concede that they have no choice but to go into hiding. It happens so fast they barely have time to pack up some things from home, but fortunately they can spare a few minutes. She cries when she carefully wraps their family pictures and blames it on hormones when Oliver pulls her in for a hug, whispering apologies in her neck.

The cabin safehouse doesn’t feel like home. The walls are adorned with Aztec textiles and random art and the furniture is oversized and traditional. It’s all comfortable and not the worst place to hide by any means, but nothing matches or looks intentional—which is exactly the point. None of it was carefully chosen or designed by ARGUS because it’s _not_ supposed to be a family home. She knows it doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things and the baby, obviously, won’t care...but _she_ does. And when her eyes well up again, Oliver pulls her into another big hug and just listens to her cry. And then she cries harder because all she wants to do is hug her husband, but her belly is in the way and she’s just _so tired._ She loves this baby more than anything, but the past few months (or, really, _years_ ) have been a constant rollercoaster of emotions and change. She doesn’t often let herself mourn what _could have been_ , because they both chose this life and each other, and she doesn’t regret a single thing….but she’s pregnant and hormonal and feels like she gets a pass this one time.

She tries to tell all of this to Oliver, who has been unwaveringly supportive and loving and his usual wonderful self, but it just comes out one long moan of unintelligible words. Even to her own ears it’s impossible to understand, and she’s afraid to look up at him to see his reaction. This outburst of emotion is so out of character for her, she knows he’s probably panicking a little; but he just holds her tighter, rubbing soothing hands down her back, and lets her cry.

When she calms down some, she dries her wet face and nose on his sweater. It’s gross, but they both don’t care. “The bedding in our room is really ugly,” she says, letting out a stuttered, uneven breath.

“I know,” he answers, kissing her forehead, then picks her up so she can sit on the kitchen island. She widens her knees and lets him stand between them, and the position allows him to get close to her, even with her stomach in between them.

“And the pillows don’t match.”

“I know,” he agrees again, leaning in to kiss her soundly. He pulls away after a minute. “But you know what?”

“What?” she asks, lips now distracted by his scruff and neck that are _right there._ Her hormones doing a complete 180 in a span of a few seconds is giving her mental whiplash, but her husband is hot and supportive and could he be more amazing?

“The bed may be ugly, but...it’s big enough to fit all _three_ of us.”

Oh, yes, he _can_ be more amazing. Because he’s right—the size _is_ all that matters. And so she cries (again), kisses him over and over, and then makes him carry her to their ugly, big bed to take more advantage of the good hormones.

In this life, she wears leggings and sweatshirts most of the days, since nice outfits are pointless and she hadn’t had time to shop for any maternity clothes. By her seventh month, she officially outgrows the few stretchy dresses of her own that she’d packed, so she resorts to mainly wearing Oliver’s shirts. Her husband definitely doesn’t mind.

As the weeks pass, they marvel at her growing body and the general weirdness of pregnancy. Even in the circumstances, they both still can’t believe they’re actually going through this experience together. The baby was not planned—not _now_ , anyway—but it is so, so wanted. They change their minds every day if it’s a boy or a girl and are _so_ glad it’ll be a surprise. They don’t have any more ultrasounds, but they do order a doppler and love listening to the heartbeat every night.

The last few weeks are blissfully uneventful. She doesn’t know what lengths the team and ARGUS are taking to keep threats at bay (and away) but she is so thankful.

In this life, there’s no baby shower or registry. So as Oliver cooks pasta one night for dinner, Felicity sits at the island and orders everything that Lyla had put on her “baby essentials” list. Thank god for Amazon.

The packages are delivered to them sporadically by ARGUS, and each bring a mix of excitement and anxiety. Felicity will never get over the sight of Oliver folding tiny onesies, but the small mountain of burp cloths and diaper cream and teething rings is a lot to take in.

When her ninth month looms, they study everything to do with homebirth and hire an ARGUS-approved midwife (which she can’t believe actually _exists_ ). She watches YouTube videos on breastfeeding and cloth diapers, knowing trips to the store for formula and disposable Pampers may be few and far between, and then practices the hypnobirthing breathing techniques she’s learned whenever she feels overwhelmed.

In the final weeks, she starts her mornings with prenatal yoga, to help her ever-aching back and start to prepare her body for labor. Oliver learns to garden for the _sole_ purpose of having organic vegetables for the daily green smoothies he makes her, and they end each night and start each morning feeling their baby roll under her skin.

Her water breaks two weeks before her due date, right as she’s about to step out of the shower, and she gasps in shock. She’d expected herself to panic when the time finally came, but she’s surprised to feel a sense of calm wash over her. She’s been shot at and threatened, paralyzed and poisoned, burned and nearly blown up—but her body was _built_ for this. She can do this.

After cleaning herself, she pulls on a knit sweater and yoga pants and feels the first contraction grip her abdomen as she brushes her hair. It’s manageable but definitely uncomfortable, and each one after gets increasingly stronger.

When she reaches the kitchen, she catches sight of Oliver running his daily one-hundred laps around the backyard. She loves her husband more than life itself, but he is a Class A hoverer—especially when she’s in pain—so she lets him finish his workout for her own sanity before alerting him of anything. She needs the quiet to steel herself for the day and mentally prepare for what’s to come, so in between the surges of pain, she just paces the house. Gathering blankets and medical supplies is a good distraction, and by the time her sweaty husband steps inside, she’s audibly moaning her way through the contractions. “The midwife is on the way,” she chokes out, once she feels the pain subside, then watches him run to take a shower. The world zones out around her as a string of strong cramps seize her stomach, and it’s only when she feels a warm hand on her shoulder does she realize he’s returned. “This isn’t fun,” she groans, turning to face his chest and grip his shirt. He kisses the top of her head and murmurs encouraging words, as she sways side to side. It helps a little, especially the counter-pressure he’s giving her lower back, but then another contraction begins to build and she feels any semblance of calm start to slip away again.

Because, yeah... even though she’s been shot at and knocked unconscious, _hooooly frack,_ this hurts. Even with the breathing methods and visualization techniques, the pain and pressure is so unyielding and severe it leaves her breathless.

Everything seems to be moving really quickly—much faster than all the so-called “slow first births” she’s read about—and by the time the midwife arrives, she’s physically shaking on the bed, deep in the throes of transition. She’d thought Oliver would drive her crazy throughout labor, but he barely leaves her side and she’s overwhelmingly thankful for it. Childbirth is a storm, rocking her with wave after wave of never-ending pain, and she is so grateful that he is here as her anchor.

A strong contraction begins to build again, and she squeezes his hand as she feels her body bear down. “I love you so much,” he says, pressing a kiss to her sweaty hair.

God, it _hurts._ “I love you so much, but I’ll love you more when this baby is out of me,” she cries, bearing down once more. It only takes another few very painful pushes, but then it’s... over. She’s so utterly relieved that the pain is gone, she throws her head back on the pillow and lets out a long breath. But then her husband makes a happy sound that makes her lift her head back up and—

“Oh,” she murmurs, hands reaching out unconsciously to take the crying bundle the midwife is handing her. “Hi,” she says quietly, looking down at the baby in her arms. _Their_ baby. Her eyes map every feature, memorizing every single lovely detail, and her heart suddenly feels too big for her chest. This little person is so new but looks so familiar at the same time, and she can’t believe she was ever scared of this. “It’s okay,” she soothes. “You’re okay.”

She hears Oliver suck in a breath next to her and realizes it’s been way too long since she’s looked at him. He looks overcome with emotion, and the sight makes her start to cry. “Oh, honey,” she whispers. “We’re okay.”

“I love you,” he breathes out, leaning down to kiss her.

“I love you, too,” she says, then feels him wipe away her happy tears.

He kisses her a few more times, then softly presses his lips to their baby’s head. “She’s so perfect.”

Felicity gasps. “She? It’s a girl?”

She doesn’t think he’s ever smiled so big. “Yeah, it’s a girl. It’s our Mia.”

That makes her cry all over again, because _of course_ it’s a girl. Of course it’s Mia. She looks down at her daughter, who’s no longer crying and just gazing up at them with bright, blue eyes. “Hi, Mia." She breathes out a happy, wet laugh. "Oh, baby girl, we love you. We love you so, so much.”

After some time, Oliver takes Mia while the midwife helps her deliver the placenta. Felicity barely notices any of it, though, too enamored by the sight of her husband and daughter. She has watched him fight demons and Vertigo, seen him covered in leather and blood. But this, without a doubt, is the best view of Oliver Queen.

After their baby girl is weighed, measured, and properly looked over, the midwife asks if she wants to shower. She doesn’t really want to, but the bed sheets have to be changed anyway, so she gingerly walks over to the bathroom and takes the fastest shower of her life. She feels tired and sore, but she’s got a great mix of adrenaline and oxytocin running through her, so she also feels more awake than she’s ever felt before. After pulling on a soft clean robe and throwing her hair in a messy, wet bun, she makes her way back out to the bedroom. Oliver has his shirt off, with Mia lying against his chest, and she feels her eyes well up at the sight of them on the bed. Because she hated that stupid bed a few weeks ago and now everything that matters most to her is laying on it. Her husband and her daughter... they are her home, now.

It’s also been way too long since she’s held her baby girl, and that’s just not okay.

The next few hours are filled with a type of bliss and peace she didn’t think they’d ever get. They take turns holding her, awkwardly getting used to transferring Mia back and forth, before Felicity settles the baby against her propped-up legs so they can both look down at her in awe.

“Hi, baby girl,” she whispers, rubbing her finger down Mia’s utterly soft cheek, before letting her tiny hand wrap around her thumb. “So it was you in there all along, huh? I’m sorry if it was loud at times from the explosions and if I ate too many gummy bears...and I'm sorry if I seemed scared, but we are really, really happy you’re here.” She feels Oliver kiss her temple as they continue to study every inch of their baby. They can't look away or stop touching her for even a moment. “Oliver, honey, she’s magic. She’s magic, right?”

“She is,” he says back. “She’s perfect.” He looks over at his wife and lets out an uneven breath, and she’s pretty sure he’s going to cry again. “And so are you. I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m a mess. I’m glad I showered, but I still feel like I’ve run a marathon. Everything happened so fast,” she laughs, then softens her voice. “You, my darling girl, were in a hurry to get here, weren’t you?” The room is warm, so she unwraps the blanket so they can admire their daughter completely. They count her little fingers and toes, and marvel at her wrinkly knees and rosebud lips. She’s the perfect mix of them both.

“No, you look so beautiful,” he says, having trouble deciding on which of his girls to look at. “You look like a mom.”

She sucks in a breath. “Mom. Wow. I'm _mom_. And you’re dad. Again.”

“Yeah,” he says, and now his eyes definitely well up again. They wordlessly share a look—because this day would be even better if William were here.

When Mia starts to stir, they spend the next hour helping Felicity try to nurse, and after a few unsuccessful tries, they finally get the hang of it. The relief she feels when Mia finally latches takes her by surprise; but knowing that she can at least provide this for their child, in this time of immense uncertainty, gives her more purpose and pride than she’s ever felt before. Oliver looks just as affected, as he cradles one arm around her back and uses his other hand to gently stroke the back of Mia’s head. They quietly watch their baby burrow closer, feeling safe and loved, while eagerly drinking from her breast, and both silently wish they could stay in this moment forever.

She knows they can’t. And she knows he has to leave. It’s something they’ve avoided these past few months, but she’s known since they arrived that eventually, for the sake and safety of their family, they would need to say goodbye. 

Neither of them talked about it as her pregnancy wore on, not wanting to ruin the bubble they were in, and she’s glad for it. Because it’d allowed for their days to be somewhat normal and not completely consumed by grief. It wouldn’t have made it any easier, so they just ignored reality for as long as they could.

But it’s still going to happen, and soon—and the thought makes her cry again. When she looks over at him, she knows he’s thinking about it too.

He thumbs away her tears, before leaning in to kiss her. And this kiss, with their daughter tucked between them, is filled with more love and promise than any other kiss has been before.

Smiling softly, he whispers. “Let’s just...enjoy this, okay?”

She smiles back. There is plenty of time to be sad, but this, right now, is not it.

“Okay.”

So they do.

(In this life, it’s different than it could have been and harder than they want it to be. But it’s _theirs._ )

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end

**Author's Note:**

> I always appreciate comments, if you choose to leave one. I hope you liked this! Thanks for reading. xx


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